Better The Devil You Know
by Nauthiz
Summary: Voldemort didn't break Harry, can Hell succeed in his place? Rated for dark themes. Oneshot.


**Rated T for some descriptions which may be triggering to anyone with self-harm or cutting history. If you think this might affect you, please do not read.  
**May be slightly confusing, but that is apparently my specialty. I'm super tired right now though so I'm going to go ahead and post it anyway...

**UPDATE: Okay, on rereading it was more confusing than I'd previously thought so I've added a little bit of backstory that should hopefully answer some questions. To be clear, this is AU from the last two books.**

HPSPN

"You've got yourself a deal Mr Potter. We'll give you the power to defeat this dark lord of yours and a year to carry out your task, but then you're ours."

Harry nodded tightly, "Fine."

He offered his hand, ready to shake on their agreement but the pretty brunette shook her head, a small smirk playing on her lips, "No, we do things differently here. A kiss will do."

Harry grimaced but clenched his eyes shut, allowing the woman to lean forward and seal their lips in a kiss, short and chaste. "One year Mr Potter, we'll see you then." And she vanished, leaving no trace but for the freshly moved dirt in the centre of the crossroads.

"One year." Harry whispered to himself, turning back the way he came. He had a job to do.

HPSPN

It was the killing curse, boosted by the demonic power in Harry, that finally felled Voldemort, the bright green light striking him in the chest and stopping his shrivelled heart instantly. Shocked silence ruled the battlefield until a chorus of cheers sang out from the light side. Hands clapped Harry on the back, ruffled his hair and clasped his arms, everyone wanted to congratulate their saviour. And if anyone had noticed his emerald eyes flash black as the killing curse left his wand, well, it was a trick of the light surely.

It had taken Harry nine months to track down Voldemort and face him in their final duel, which gave him three months left by the demon's deal. Three months to say goodbye to all his friends, those left alive. It took him two. The final month was spent in solitude, trying to find ways to stave off the hellhounds. Their barking was closer now, a constant presence and then his time was up. The last month had flown by faster than his firebolt and the hellhounds were at the door. It wouldn't hold them for long and then they were there. Razor sharp claws and teeth ripped into his flesh and he knew no more... until he woke up.

HPSPN

Time ran differently in hell, this Harry was intimately aware of. He had no idea how long he'd been on the rack in real time, but in hell time it felt like eternity. There was no sun in hell and so there were no days, weeks or months, no way of accounting for time. Harry was not even sure if time existed. Maybe he was locked in stasis, reliving the same pain over and over and over. But no, that could not be right. Alastair used different tricks each time. Every visit took pain to new levels, with that damning offer when it was over, temporarily over of course because Harry said no every time. Alastair brought more agony after each refusal and still Harry declined.

One day, or session as Harry had no idea if it was day or night up above, it wasn't Alastair who turned up. Harry's latest torturer did not even appear to be a demon. He was human. Tall, green eyed and unbearably handsome. That he could even notice this through the pain was a source of quite some amusement to Harry. The man carried the, by now, familiar agony-inducing implements such as an array of knives, some soaked in paralysing poisons, some with serrated blades, and Harry knew it would be this man who received the _pleasure_ of making him scream this time.

There was something about the man. Harry didn't know what it was. Maybe the familiar broken look behind haunted eyes, maybe the tense set of broad shoulders that told Harry the man had his own burdens to bear. No, Harry didn't know what it was but he welcomed it. As the first of many knives sliced through delicate skin he sighed in sweet release. Blood trailed in sticky rivulets along his scorched flesh and the pain he now craved sung through his nerves. Later (days, hours, minutes?), his handsome torturer put away the tools and asked him the question. Harry grinned a maniacal grin and said no. A look somewhat like appreciation flashed briefly through the other man's eyes, so quickly Harry thought afterwards he'd imagined it, and he nodded once before leaving.

When the next time came around, Alastair was back. He asked after the green eyed stranger as Alastair adjusted the chains to flog him. His only response: a hiss, and the question. This time, Harry said _yes_.

Harry had just broken his third victim when the whispers reached his ears. Something had been in Hell that did not belong there, something that burned white hot with divine light. It had lifted a man out. Tall, green eyed, handsome. Harry knew who it had taken and felt no envy, just a dulled sense of awe that the man who made him crave pain was important enough to register on the angel radar. He was not deluding himself. No such reprieve would come for him and no such reprieve was wanted. As he tightened the chains for his fourth challenge, eyes glinting black, he knew he was beyond any divine help now.

HPSPN

I hope this is a bit clearer this time, thanks for reading.


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